Chapter 31
CHAPTER 31
“I’ve got him,” Logan said, throwing his uncle’s arm over his shoulder. “Can ye make it up the stairwell?”
Dallas grimaced, blood seeping into his torn shirt, beneath his leather jerkin. “Aye, I can. They havenae taken me legs from me yet.”
“What happened?” Logan asked, gripping his uncle’s waist to bear most of his weight.
Together, they made their shambling ascent up the narrow stone staircase to the top of the tower. It would be the safest place for an injured man, though Logan was already calculating the loss.
Dallas was a fearsome fighter, even in his advanced age, and invaluable if a battle broke out between the keep and the villagers.
Dallas wheezed through every breath, concentrating on the steps. “I’ll tell… ye when… I can rest meself. If I kenned… that I’d be walkin’ into a horde of… madmen and women, I would’ve… stayed in the east.”
“I dinnae even realize ye’d left the keep,” Logan said apologetically. “I’d have sent riders out to fetch ye back if I had.”
Dallas flashed his nephew a wry grin. “Aye, well, I assume ye were… rather distracted with that… pretty lass, who… has caused all this.”
“She dinnae cause all this,” Logan replied curtly. “It’s people harpin’ on about witches and curses and all that nonsense, when there’s nay such thing. Aye, there are things in this world that cannae be easily explained, but I ken what’s real and what isnae. If only they would, too, we wouldnae be in this situation.”
After all, Adeline appearing out of nowhere was nothing if not proof that some kind of magic existed, but as far as he was concerned, it had only proven the existence of the good kind. The “curse” was just a sickness, like the Black Death or a winter cold. There was no sorcery to it.
Dallas’s face twisted into a mask of agony, his breath ragged as they continued up the staircase. He did not attempt to say another word until they reached the tower, where Logan carried him into Adeline’s bedchamber, startling the three women who were waiting there.
“Dallas?” Sophie jumped to her feet. “Are ye well? What happened to ye?”
Moira gaped at Dallas. “There’s blood on yer shirt, Uncle.”
“Aye, I ken,” Dallas replied shakily. “It’s nay more than a scratch. Daenae fret.”
Adeline did not immediately leap into action, her gaze distant. It was the first thing Logan noticed, for while he had been busy rallying his men and giving orders, he had not ceased thinking about her.
Every moment he spent away from her, he worried that she might not be there when he returned. But there she was, pale and pensive, staring off into the distance.
“Adeline!” Sophie shouted. “Can ye do somethin’ for him?”
Adeline snapped out of her trance. “Huh?”
“He’s been hurt,” Sophie said. “Ye must aid him.”
“Right, of course.” Adeline looked at Logan, flashing him an apologetic smile. “First, you need to tell me what happened. I have bandages, but if you have something alcoholic, like whisky or anything like that, that would be useful.”
Sophie pulled a shocked face. “I daenae think this is the time for drinkin’, Adeline.”
“It’s not for me, though all of us could probably use a stiff drink right now. It’s to clean the wound,” Adeline explained.
Sophie’s cheeks reddened. “Oh, I see. Well, in that case—Moira, go and fetch a bottle of somethin’ potent. The stuff ye’re nae allowed to drink. Bring it as fast as ye can.”
As Moira took off out of the door, Logan helped Dallas the rest of the way to the bed, where he laid him down. Adeline stepped in without hesitation. With Logan’s assistance, the two of them removed Dallas’s leather jerkin, revealing the torn and blood-soaked shirt beneath.
But as Adeline reached out to find the source of the bleeding and begin treating him, Dallas caught hold of her wrist.
“Daenae touch me,” he said coldly. “I willnae take yer help, Miss Adeline. I cannae, until I ken the truth.”
“The truth?” Adeline frowned, pulling her arm back.
Dallas grimaced. “I wish I could have the faith in ye that me nephew does, but… I bring news from the eastern villages, and it’s nae the fortunate kind.”
He draped his arm across his stomach, protecting his wound from her. “I rode there… after I’d passed on yer message of boilin’ the water, Miss Adeline. I was expectin’… to see joyful faces. I was expectin’ to hear… of the wonders of all yer healin’. In truth, I wanted to… send a few of ‘em to the other villages to… spread the word of yer skills, but what I saw wasnae… what I had hoped for.”
“What do ye mean?” Logan frowned down at his uncle, his heart lurching.
Dallas cleared his throat, wincing as he pulled himself higher up the bed. “They’re… dyin’.”
“What?” Adeline gasped.
Dallas licked his dry lips. “I think I… spoke plainly enough. They’re dyin’. I watched it… happenin’. Vomitin’ blood, foamin’ at the mouth, faces bulgin’ like they were bein’ strangled to death by… unseen hands.” He paused to catch his breath. “It’s happenin’ all through the villages. I had to… be sure. Ye havenae helped any of ‘em, Miss Adeline. Ye’ve… made ‘em sicker. It’s the north all over again.”
“No.” Adeline shook her head, the last hint of color draining from her face. “That’s not possible. If that were true, Oliver would be getting sicker, but he’s getting better. His fever is gone, his blood pressure has come down, as far as I can judge. His heartrate is evening out, and Sophie said he’s been waking up intermittently. He’s my benchmark—from him, I can gauge what should be happening to everyone else.”
Dallas narrowed his eyes at her. “The villagers think it… was the tonic.”
“But Oliver had the tonic, and he’s fine,” Adeline insisted, looking frantically in Logan’s direction. Tears glittered in her eyes. “It can’t be the tonic, unless…”
Logan went to her. “Unless what, lass?”
“Well, the symptoms… they sound like acute poisoning—the vomiting, the frothing, the difficulty of breathing, the… dying.” She shook her head, as though she were trying to rattle the pieces into place. “I swear to you, I didn’t put anything in the tonic that isn’t in the one Oliver has been taking. I made it the same every time. If there have been sudden changes like the ones Dallas is describing, then someone must’ve tainted the tonic after I left. Poisoned it.”
Logan put his arm around her waist, pushing back a lock of hair that had come loose from her ribbon. “I believe ye, lass. I ken ye’re nae a witch, and I ken ye wouldnae do anythin’ to harm others.” He smiled, hoping to reassure her. “Maybe there just wasnae good enough medicine here to help them.”
“But that’s what I’m trying to explain,” Adeline urged. “Oliver is getting better. That means the medicine is working. This is deliberate sabotage, Logan, to make me look like a witch who curses people. I’m not saying this is about me—I don’t think it is, actually. I think it’s about you .”
Logan furrowed his brow. “Me?”
“Aye, ye!” Sophie piped up. “Even I can see that. Someone wants to make ye look like ye’ve been corrupted.”
Adeline nodded eagerly. “Exactly. Someone wants to make you look bad. Someone wants to make it look like you associate with witches, and that you’re bewitched by one,” she went on, her eyes widening as if it was all beginning to make sense. “It’s not a coincidence that there’s a mob outside on the same night that someone has poisoned the villages I went to. I’d bet my panda onesie that it’s a back-up plan.”
Logan tilted his head to the side. “How so?”
“Say we’d managed to persuade your people that I’m not what they’re saying I am,” she explained. “They’d have all gone home, and there’d have been no harm done, right?”
He nodded. “Right.”
“But if that same mob suddenly got wind of the fact that I’d done some healing in the east and everyone there started dying, they’d be back here with their torches and pitchforks faster than you can say, ‘hocus pocus.’ It’s a back-up plan!” Anger glinted in her beautiful eyes. “They’ve poisoned people to try and get to you—they’ve killed people, your people, Logan. Now, it’s up to you to figure out who hates you enough to do that and, more importantly, why.”
Logan hesitated. “I cannae think of anyone who would do such a thing.”
Meanwhile, Dallas eyed Adeline closely, in a manner that made Logan close his arms tighter around her, to protect her from his glare.
“If it’s nae ye, then… I have me suspicions, but—” Dallas turned his attention back to his nephew. “—ye willnae like what I have to say, any more than ye liked what I just said.”
“Daenae dare!” Sophie exclaimed, wagging her finger at him. “I ken what ye’re goin’ to say, and I willnae hear any of it. It isnae his brother. I ken everyone in this keep thinks Oliver is some wicked devil, as morally bereft as his faither was, but he’s nae like that. He’s troubled, aye, but he’s nae a murderer nor a poisoner.”
Dallas sighed, holding his stomach. “If ye mentioned his name, there must be a part of ye that thinks it might be true. I ken he’s yer wee boy and ye want to protect him, but… I reckon ye have yer doubts about him, too.”
“Oliver?” Logan swallowed thickly, trying to imagine it.
His brother definitely did not have much love for him, but he could not fathom the notion of Oliver poisoning entire villages just to punish him. Oliver was a drinker, a brawler, an occasional thief, and a general degenerate—he was not an evil schemer.
Then again, if Logan was deemed unfit to rule, the Lairdship would go to his younger brother.
“Miss Adeline just said that Oliver has been drinkin’ the same tonic and gettin’ better. I ask ye, he wouldnae poison his own medicine, now, would he?” Dallas said, bolstering the possibility in Logan’s mind.
“No, it’s not him,” Adeline replied suddenly. “How could it be?”
Logan gazed at her, clinging to the hope that his uncle was wrong. “What do ye mean?”
“He’s been here since we left Red Briar, and you were watching over him while he was convalescing in that cottage,” she said. “Plus, he was sick. You can fake a lot of things, but you can’t fake a raging fever. In his condition, he wouldn’t have been able to sit up, much less go around, poisoning the jars of tonic everyone had. And nobody was having a reaction like that when we left, so it must’ve been done sometime between when we left and now. Closer to the latter, if you consider the sudden onset of symptoms.”
Dallas narrowed his glassy eyes. “He could’ve asked someone to do it for him.”
“I wouldnae,” a new voice growled, followed by the creak of the door opening. “If I was goin’ to poison someone, I’d do it with me own hands. And as the lass said, I wasnae in any condition to do it.”
Everyone turned in surprise as Oliver stumbled into the room. He gripped the jamb to hold himself upright, swaying slightly. He had a ghostly pallor, his lips cracked and bleeding.
Sophie rushed to his side, holding him up. “I ken ye wouldnae do a thing like that, sweet boy. I told them so.”
“I heard,” Oliver said, wincing. “But I am astonished that ye would speak for me, Miss Adeline, after everything I said about ye.”
Adeline shrugged. “You had a fever. You can’t trust what anyone says when they have a sky-high temperature. Besides, I’m not an idiot—I can see how some of the things I say and do might seem like sorcery to the people here, even if it’s actually just the result of a very long, very expensive education.”
“Well.” Oliver cleared his throat. “I happen to have another suggestion, if I may?”
Logan watched the faces of those around him, feeling as if he was missing something. Maybe he was being na?ve, but he still could not think of a single person who would want to do him harm. There were countless who might wish some inconvenience upon him, but not harm. As for the “why” that Adeline had suggested, that was even more of a mystery to him.
At least Oliver would’ve made sense .
“Ye might remember that I wasnae unconscious the whole time I was festerin’ at Red Briar,” Oliver began, his expression blank. “I saw Miss Adeline speakin’ with someone by the cottage. I saw me brother mutterin’ by the fireplace about how he was goin’ to stay away from Miss Adeline.”
Logan’s eyes widened. “I beg yer pardon?”
Oliver raised a hand, smiling slyly as he demanded silence, and continued, “I saw more than ye might think, as I drifted in and out of unconsciousness. Heard more.” He directed his pointed gaze at Logan. “I saw Theo weepin’ on the porch over his sisters. But the strangest thing I saw was someone creepin’ back from the woods in the early hours of the mornin’ we departed Red Briar. Someone who shouldnae have been there, but should’ve been here at the keep, as instructed.”
Adeline’s head snapped toward Dallas. All of a sudden, she broke away from Logan’s arms, marching to the bedside. Lightning fast, she grabbed Dallas’s shirt and pulled it up… revealing nothing but a vivid smear of red. Plenty of it. Blood, but not his.
“You’re not hurt at all,” she said thickly. “And you were there when I collapsed, when you shouldn’t have been. In fact, I don’t think I ever stopped to wonder why you were there, in the old healer’s chambers, at that exact moment.”
Oliver coughed into his hand, his eyes glinting. “The cottage door was open. I saw him carryin’ somethin’ from the woods. Looked like a jar of somethin’. The kind ye’d find in the old healer’s chambers.”
“It was you,” Adeline hissed, stepping back.
It was you…
A vision flared in Logan’s mind of a figure stealing through the hallways of the keep with a bundle in his arms. A mewling bundle. Baby Oliver. Logan had pushed the memory so far down that he had thought it was forever buried, but there it was, illuminated in a flash of lightning that glared through the window—a face he knew, carrying his baby brother out of the keep.
Logan had followed as far as he dared. He had not seen the face again, for the man was stealthy, but there was no denying it.
“It was ye,” he echoed, staring at his uncle. “Of course, it was ye. Ye’ve been tryin’ to do this since Oliver was a bairn, hopin’ to get rid of us.”
Dallas’s face cracked into a cold grin as his hands slowly clapped together in a dry applause. “Five-and-twenty years later, ye finally figured it out.”